You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
((How do you respond?))
"What is it you wish to hear? My past? or perhaps you wish to know what I pursue, to learn how my story shall continue. I'm afraid I'm not of the inclination to tell you anything of the sort, unless you feel the need to share how you knew of my coming." Lars mumbles along, his mind whirring in an antagonized way, how the heck are the candles just floating, and is this old hag really expecting me, and if so, how? By some greater power or prophecy? Lars's mind flashed back to when he used to travel with my father, his father being a nomad of sorts, and towards the prized possession his father had left for Lars before he left this world. Sadly, his father's memory started to fade at the end of his life, and he was unable to tell Lars as to how to find his treasure. Thus, Lars had set out to retrace the steps of his traveling father, which led him to this lonely town. The only thing Lars knew about his father's possession was that it was likely connected to his mother, whom he had never met. So, this witch must be connected to that possession and my father, or possibly even my mother, Lars came to the conclusion.
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